


six pieces of paper

by savagesun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dreams, Gay, Gay Panic, Kozume Kenma is Bad at Feelings, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Kozume Kenma, SO GAY DUDE, a lot of bad words i can't help it, everything is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savagesun/pseuds/savagesun
Summary: Kenma Kozume had a nice dream he wants to forget, but the dream doesn't want to be forgotten.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77





	six pieces of paper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [m3ess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/m3ess/gifts).



> hi i have this since december i think (a christmas gift to one of my best friends) and i haven't been writing lately so why not post it
> 
> it's suuuuuuper duper clingy i'm embarrassed .... but anyways i hope you like it?? let me know what you think!<3

Kenma wakes up to an empty heart. It’s unusual for him to feel like this, as he mostly does not remember his dreams once he wakes up. But this time, he hides into his covers right at the moment the alarm starts going off, and it scares him. He shivers, opens his eyes wide and finds this empty sensation in his heart, along with the fast heartbeats, quick-breathing, the sudden realization like a cold bath that this is reality. It takes him some time to move and turn the alarm off. He doesn’t move any more than that.

It must’ve been a nightmare, is the first thing he thinks in the morning. Kenma tries to find the fear right beside that emptiness, but does not find it; he tries to remember the bad feeling, but it's still not there. At its place, he’s surprised to remember, is the softness of a very good, comforting dream. There, in the dream, is the feeling of numb skin and two shining twilight stars. This is what scares him the most, more than any nightmare ever could.

He feels drained. He feels like he’s nothing close to being alive. He feels like he’s lost the best thing he’s ever felt all his life.

It starts like this: _he’s on a beach, the cold wind against his face. The salty smell of the sea, the warm sand beneath his feet, the crashing waves in front of him—the enraged, relieving sound of it._

Reality sucks. It does. But Kenma realizes he’d rather live fucking reality than to revive this delicate dream.

That’s why he closes his eyes shut to open them again, searching for real matter as much as he can. Kenma thinks now, there’s a brand new game that launched during the night. He lost it because he had to sleep early due to an exam today, and he can’t be late.

He can’t be late.

Still, he takes his console and starts downloading.

Kenma doesn’t want to remember or to think about this dream, even though this dream wants to be remembered.

He can't be late.

***

He's late.

This is the first thing Kuroo says to him as they walk up to the subway station.

“So?” Kenma asks, not really paying attention to anything but the new game he’s learning to play.

It’s exciting enough, and as usual, he’s not willing to give up easily.

“You said you wouldn’t be late on exam days this semester,” Kuroo replies, spying on Kenma's new game. He whistles low when Kenma defeats the opponent and remains with an untouchable health bar. “You’re a fast learner.”

He takes this as a compliment, though only shrugs to it. Kenma feels a little warmth on his cheeks as he usually does to compliments, so he’s glad Kuroo can’t see his face very well right now.

“You truly believe in my academic promises?” he says, stoic.

Kuroo frowns. “Well.”

“It’s funny how you have so much faith in me when it comes to anything other than volleyball and games.”

“What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“The realist one.”

It goes on like this: _it’s sunset, the sky is a deep mix of deep orange, pink and purple. The sunlight is reflecting on the dark water beyond. It reminds him of crystals, like the ones stuck in a cave he’d have to break in order to pass up to another level. It feels familiar, right here. Somehow, he doesn’t know why, it feels like home._

Kenma stops walking, stops playing. His character dies, and he wonders if it’s the same feeling of knocked lungs that kills him, the same dizziness on his head, the equal doubt of whether he’ll be stuck to the ground forever. Kuroo keeps on until he notices Kenma is behind.

Even though it’s a dream, it feels… real.

He doesn’t want to remember.

“What is it?” Kuroo asks, a little worried.

“Nothing.” He blinks. His hands are cold, but not trembling. Swiftly, he starts walking again. “I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“Something I don’t want to remember.” He restarts the game as if he can restart the day that has just begun. 

He’s glad Kuroo doesn’t ask more, as there isn’t much to understand to both of them. But even if his mind is off the dream, he still can’t shake that familiar feeling that’s been following him ever since he woke up.

It’s a good familiar feeling.

Kenma hates it.

***

There's a list of the few things Kenma doesn't mind on the last page of his notebook.

The first one is playing volleyball. This one is straight up obvious and self-explanatory, but he still writes it. Sweating is repugnant, moving and running around is foolish, but the feeling of excitement on making up strategies and analysis are good enough to keep him going. He likes being useful.

The second is laughing. He might not laugh so much, but he doesn't mind when he's comfortable with people. It makes him feel more of a human and less a machine that does what it has to do because of daily obligations. It leads him to good humour, good thoughts. And it definitely doesn't make him vulnerable as he thought when he was younger and afraid of social interaction. 

The third one is social interaction. He still avoids talking whenever is not necessary and hides from friendly conversations to play games, but doesn't mind anymore. That rotten fear is no longer there. Sometimes he can understand better what he's thinking when he talks out loud—though not _loud._

The fourth one he writes is studying with Kuroo. He's the reason behind his 90 on today's exam, and there is no shame in assuming that. His best friend is highly intelligent and smart, a little bit too much of a nerd, so he’d be a fool to not acknowledge this. Besides, his mom makes them cookies as a reward for studying every time.

The fifth, he gulps as he writes, is Kuroo himself. He's just the bestest friend Kenma could ever wish for, though some part of this does bother him. It's an ordinary relationship just like every other one, so it should be easy to say _he's my best friend_. He's tried a couple of times before, and all he accomplished was, “You don't make me mad, Kuro.” Sure it was a compliment coming from him, but it wasn't what he wanted to say.

Kenma thinks his best friend makes him comfortable. But that's not odd, is it? Kuroo annoys him. Kuroo is stupid. Kuroo has a teasing, boring smile. Kuroo smells of the ocean and Kenma is aware of that due to all the times he's been beside him. They've always been at each other's side for as long as Kenma can tell.

There was this rainy day years ago. Kuroo was bored and upset it was raining, and because of that, they couldn't go play outside. He'd never complain to Kenma, who was very good at observing even whilst playing games, and knew all too well Kuroo was polite enough not to tell him he was bored.

Kenma was a little bit cold; he had socks on and kept sniffing now and then, hiding inside his hoodie. They’d known each other for a couple months, but Kenma never quit being shy. He was playing something, not bothering to make any effort. It was more interesting to predict the ways Kuroo moved around, talked, sighed, read. Kenma always found a pattern, and Kuroo started sighing louder.

“Do you want to play?” Kenma asked with a child undertone. He sniffed but did not look at Kuroo.

To his surprise, there was a weight on his mattress and then a face close to his, side by side. The first thing Kenma noted was that Kuroo smelled nice, and right after, that he was warm.

“You're going to catch a cold too,” he said, moving away but not too much. 

“It's okay,” Kuroo replied, moving closer again, “I'm immune to sickness because I'm very healthy. That was what my father said, at least. Don't worry.”

“Okay…”

“I don't know how to play. Can I watch you first?”

Kenma shrugged. They just were two children building up a friendship that was meant to be, like stars showing up at night. It was weird in some way, but it felt nice; felt familiar.

“If that's what you want, I don't mind.”

Not really knowing why, Kenma doesn't remember much except for the warmth next to him, the comforting Kuroo's presence that rode him to silence, and his strain to not sneeze being so close to a friend. He's not even sure Kuroo remembers this, or is aware that he still smells like the ocean and home.

Home. 

It goes on like this: _The waves crash harder, though the wind blows softer. There are no clouds up in the sky, it's clear as glass and with fading colors to twilight. The rising moon is watching, and the sun is almost gone. There are footsteps on the sand and the absent silence carries them to the bottom of the sea. He turns to find a small silhouette walking towards him, one he can't recognize from far away and in the low light. It's coming closer._

Kenma pushes it away. Closing his notebook, he hurries out of the classroom, away from eyes and whispers and thoughts he doesn't recognize. Away from words, dreams, memories and the certainty of an (not) ordinary best friend.

***

Lunch today is Kuroo's favourite. Kenma doesn't know how he knows this, but is surprised to see he's right. This disturbs him to some point, though he keeps quiet as he always does. His other friends are around, and Yaku is always the first one—when Kuroo is paying attention to something else, which, right now, is the food—to point out the slightest change of expression in Kenma’s regular tedious, tired face.

As usual, Kenma doesn't eat much. He grabs the fork and starts playing around with his potatoes, while casually looking up to see a delighted Kuroo with his fish. It's Friday, he realizes. That's the reason today is Kuroo's favourite: he prepares it by himself the night before with care and amusement. It's the only day of the week he doesn't follow his rigorous diet to be a strong and healthy volleyball player.

Kenma thinks there's nothing wrong with knowing this. They're best friends, they're prone to know each other’s habits, likes and dislikes. They're prone to know the other’s plans, expectations; the way his lips twist regarding a different kind of smile, the way his brown eyes gleam whenever he's excited, and his long chatter about chemistry that Kenma knows by heart—it may vary, but he always finishes with, _We_ are _chemistry, Kenma. We’re mere atoms changing into whatever our world needs us to be; we’re everything and nothing. I'm a part of you as much as you're a part of me._ Then, Kenma sighs and starts playing again, ignoring the bubbly sound of Kuroo's laughter.

They're each other's habits. There's nothing wrong with this.

He raises his golden eyes once he hears no voice around the table. Everyone is silent, watching him playing with his food with one arm, and playing _Hollow Knight_ with his other one. Kenma doesn't care to know how he's able to think off orbit, to play, and to not pay attention to anything all at once, but he is, and they find it strange.

As soon as he reaches a checkpoint, he closes his DS with disappointment. “Yes?” Though he meant to speak irritated, his voice tone is calm and tired as it always is.

“You're not eating,” Kuroo says.

Lifting a brow, Kenma takes a tiny piece of potato and puts it in his mouth. He's not hungry, but isn't also in the mood to argue or refuse, and doesn't want any more attention towards him. 

“How did your test go?” Kuroo asks, as the chatter slowly comes back to life. 

“Fine.”

“Was it difficult?”

“No.”

“Let me see your notebook.”

“No.”

Kenma has always been one of short words, as he doesn't like talking too much nor feels the need to. People around him are used to it. Kuroo is used to it. But as Kenma says the last _No_ , he can see the surprise on Kuroo's face, as he's never said this before. And in fact, he hasn't—he has never denied anything so silly, never done this to Kuroo’s face. This isn't wrong, by any means. But it doesn't feel right and it doesn't feel natural either.

Truth be told, he doesn't want Kuroo to read what's written on the last page. He doesn't even know Kuroo is going to open that last page. It might never cross his mind. Still, Kenma is afraid that Kuroo finds out he's that comfortable with him; which isn't unexpected, they're best friends. But Kenma doesn't want him to read. It feels like a secret he's doomed to be the only one to ever know.

It goes on like this: _The silhouette grows taller, it molds to features he’s now able to recognize from that distance. Unsurprisingly, it's Kuroo, and he's with his hands hidden in his pockets, so legitimate as this beach setting, feeling real and tangible. Kuroo is walking to him, relaxed, with a loose smile on his face._

Kenma cringes. This is stupid, weird, and makes his mind flip downwards. He's nauseated.

Silent, without saying a single word, Kenma vanishes out of the refectory.

***

There is something wrong with him.

He really wants to know why he keeps remembering this dream, why he's dreamed of Kuroo and why his friendship with him suddenly tastes like a lie. He can't. He's been wandering in the nursery for some time now, and can't shake off the foolishness of not feeling well just because of these disturbing things.

Not long after, his mother takes him home—to his actual home.

Kenma takes a shower and tries to rest, but he isn't able to. He plays a little, dies some more, then puts his console to charge. Habit doings, habit thoughts. It doesn't work.

He has an idea.

Locking his room, Kenma puts six pieces of paper on the floor, organizing them in a straight timeline. He writes in the first one: _the day I met Kuro,_ and in the fifth one: _I had a dream about Kuro._

In the second one, he writes: _Kuro is now my friend_ , and in the third one: _Kuro gets me to volleyball club._ In the fourth he writes: _Kuro is my best friend_. And in the last one, he stares at it for a long time, he draws a large question mark.

This is what he has to find out, what does it mean, how does it feel—what does _he_ feel like. 

But he has to remember his whole dream to figure the last part out.

It doesn't take him long.

Surely, it goes on like this: _Kuroo is smiling, right in front of him now. It's almost dark and he can see the stars above._

 _Kuroo asks,_ What are you doing? _And he doesn't reply, because he doesn't know._

 _He looks down on the waves, up to the sky, and to Kuroo’s eyes._ What are _you_ doing here? _, he asks and this time Kuroo is the one who doesn't reply. They keep staring, they do not move._

You wanted me to be here _, Kuroo finally says._ So I came.

Did I? _, he questions. The wind moves Kuroo’s hair softly, like a caring gesture._

But I wanted to come too, _Kuroo adds, locking his lips, not smiling anymore._

Why?

 _Kuroo looks him straight in his golden-cat eyes and says,_ If you don't want me out there, at least you could want me here.

_He feels panic in his chest, trembling hands, vibrating fast heartbeats and an internal scream that echoes in his head. He wants to move, to say something, but his eyes are now locked on the sea, where it meets the sky, and the black-pitched night is lightened by a low-hanging moon and a handful of stars._

_He doesn't want to look at anything more beautiful than that, something that makes him feel better than that. Anyone. Someone._

_Kuroo takes his face, wanting to be seen. He can't resist; he looks at Kuroo._

_He wakes up._

“Shit,” Kenma mumbles.

He asks himself, _was it Kuroo that longed to be wanted not in the world of dreams, but right here, in reality?_

Kenma is a clever boy. He knows of defense mechanisms, and of sucked up feelings unwilling to accept truth. He already knows that answer.

His hands are shaking when he writes in the last piece of paper: _I want Kuroo._

Now they are in a full sequence.

_The day I met Kuro — Kuro is now my friend — Kuro gets me to volleyball club — Kuro is my best friend — I had a dream about Kuro — I want Kuroo._

Kuroo makes him comfortable.

Kuroo makes him want to die.

Kuroo makes him want to live.

Kuroo knows all about him. Kuroo is his best friend.

Kenma wants his best friend.

Is there something wrong with it?

He stares at the six pieces of paper so much his vision gets blurry.

“Fuck,” Kenma whispers.

He likes his best friend in a non-friend way.

He likes Kuroo. He wants him.

“Kenma?” It's his mother’s voice following a knock on his door.

Kenma shrieks quietly and throws all of six pieces of paper under his bed, as if he could hide his feelings and realization altogether.

“Yes, mom?” He tries not to panic again, rubbing his face to make himself feel real.

“Why is your door locked? Kuroo is here.”

“Kuro…” His voice fails. Kenma gulps hard, looking at the window. It's already night time, he didn't even notice.

“Kenma?” His mother knocks again.

He breathes in and out, and opens his door quickly as he jumps onto his bed and starts playing a random game. Even though he can't find a reason why Kuroo is at his home, he says, “Let him in.”

Kuroo soon enters his room, hands on his hips and a confused look on his face. “It's Friday. Dinner’s on you.”

This makes Kenma stare at him, and he can't hide the surprise lifting his eyebrows. “Oh. Right.”

He can't believe he forgot Kuroo was coming so they could have dinner together; tomorrow would be on Kuroo’s. Kenma feels awful.

Kuroo closes his door and sits up on the bed, a safe distance from Kenma. Neither of them speak, not until Kuroo starts sighing again, a gesture that means he's either bored, tired or wants something from Kenma he's afraid to ask.

“You want to play?” Kenma says, not looking up.

“No, I—” He shifts position, uncomfortable. “I want to know what's wrong. You ran away from me all day at school after lunch.”

“Not from you. I was just not feeling well.”

“Was it because of me?”

“Um, no? Why would that be?”

Kuroo clears his throat, and sounds very serious when he says, “Can you please put that console down?”

A little unsure, Kenma does it as told. “What's wrong, Kuro?” It’s funny how everything's wrong with him, or feels like it, and he can say these exact words as if none of them mattered.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Kenma narrows his eyes. “I'm not following.”

Even though Kuroo starts talking, Kenma doesn't pay attention. His eyes are glassy, unmoved on the six pieces of paper blown by the wind and right below Kuroo’s feet. Kuroo keeps going until he notices Kenma is looking down, so he does too.

Kuroo sees there are six pieces of paper on the floor.

Kuroo stares at Kenma. Kenma stares at Kuroo.

They both get up to pick the pieces, and it's a tangled messy fight. Kenma tries to climb on him because Kuroo is so tall, but Kuroo shoves Kenma off because he's small. Kenma tries to punch him, but Kuroo dodges. The fight stops when Kuroo locks himself in Kenma's bathroom, and Kenma can tell it’s all over.

He still tries. “Kuroo Tetsurou, open the fucking door!”

“I didn't know babies could curse,” he mocks on the other side.

“Shut up, I'm going to kill you!”

“What is it you don't want me to read—” He doesn't finish his sentence, and Kenma is sure he's just read the last one, the sixth piece.

They fall into silence and it's disturbing.

Kenma doesn't know what to do. Knocking isn't going to work, neither is cursing him or yelling—this would just bring his parents’ attention.

So he slowly makes his way back to his bed and waits.

Everything is ruined. He couldn't even process what he's found out, and now he ruined the only real friendship he's ever had.

It must've been minutes or hours, but when Kuroo finally gets out of the bathroom, Kenma can't look at him.

There is a soft wind blowing from the window, it makes him shudder a little and he holds close his legs to his chest. He's never felt this embarrassed.

Even the moon is mocking him, a tiny smile across the dark sky and the shining stars.

He couldn't even say, _that wasn't me_. Kuroo knows his handwriting. Kuroo knows his notebook pages ripped to six pieces. Kuroo knows the dates he's written above the letters all match. Kuroo knows everything there is to know about Kenma.

Kuroo sighs, but this time he doesn’t wait for Kenma to start. His voice isn’t steady as usual, and seems rough. “I'm sorry I found out this way,” he murmurs, sitting in front of him.

Kenma’s face is hot, he still doesn't move his eyes from the moon. “Me too.”

“This is why you didn’t want me to see your notebook?” he asks, but as Kenma doesn’t have an answer to it, he changes the question to, “Do you want me to be honest?”

He truly doesn't know what's worst: to know or to not know the pain of rejection. He wants Kuroo more than a best friend but Kuroo doesn't want him back.

Kenma doesn't answer again.

Kuroo continues anyway.

“I've been trying to tell you this ever since we were twelve.”

Kenma’s eyes move like lightning to Kuroo’s face. He's not laughing, he's not even smiling. Kuroo is dead serious, and his eyes glow like the stars above them.

“What.”

“You heard me.”

That was a possibility Kenma didn't put any faith in. It was against odds, against the logic facts that Kuroo liked girls. For all he's known, Kuroo has kissed a few before, so it doesn't add up to what he said.

He _couldn't_ want Kenma since they were twelve. It was simply not right.

“Do you not believe me?” Kuroo puts the pieces of paper aside and moves closer to him.

“But you… you like...”

“Girls? I do. But I like you more, always have.” He seems to be in pain when he says, “I’ve been a coward too, afraid of what you’d say if you knew I liked you, so I’ve never got the guts to tell you properly.”

Kenma closes his eyes, acknowledging this feeling. His mind takes him back to that dream, to that beach, to the crashing waves and the sun setting to night time. He remembers being nervous as he is right now, and remembers Kuroo’s hand on his face, the same exact ocean smell, the same comfortable feeling.

He doesn't think much.

“I don’t believe you,” Kenma says, and his low voice is like a wisp.

He can feel Kuroo moving closer, pulling _him_ closer and he's almost on Kuroo’s lap. But he doesn't move. He opens his eyes and Kuroo touches Kenma’s face softly, as light as a feather.

“You can see it for yourself,” he replies, with certainty as he takes Kenma’s hands and puts them on his chest.

Kenma is barely breathing. “Can I—” He ignores the urge to hide his flushed face. “Can I touch you?”

Even though Kuroo is barely moving, he nods just enough for Kenma to do it.

Kenma’s fingers are on his strong neck. His jaw. His cheeks, his nose, and beautiful, full lips. Kuroo leans in to Kenma’s touch, quietly as a cat, and lets Kenma play with his dark hair, his ears and everything else.

His heart is beating so fast. His eyes are gleaming in between dilated pupils. He’s being just too plain, dead honest.

Kuroo has always been honest, but this is something else.

It’s like Kenma is meeting this guy who likes him, and who likes him back.

"On my notebook," he mumbles, "I wrote that I don't mind you."

"That was just it?" There is a soft smile on Kuroo's lips.

Kuroo’s skin is warm, whilst Kenma’s fingers are cold. Kenma can hear his own heartbeats pounding just like Kuroo’s, beneath his hand, as if they’re beating in the same rhythm.

Kuroo has been saying ever since they were twelve.

_I'm a part of you as much as you're a part of me._

Kenma knows Kuroo is not lying. He couldn't. His truth is right on Kenma's touch, a silent answer to a silent question.

It's natural when his lips touch Kuroo’s, and Kenma is afraid his heart will just stop; he's never felt something as strong as this, or anything at all, for that matter. Being right here, with Kuroo, along with the moon and the stars and the night sky, it feels like a dream. The dream.

But dreams have one simple nature and rule: they do not last.

This is reality, and Kenma doesn't feel empty anymore.

This reality lasts.


End file.
